Page 3 of Ruby
My skin prickles when their faces drift into my memory. “Don’t I pay you to make me feel better? Not depress me?”
“We both know you don’t want coddling,” she tells me with a slight frown. “You want truth.”
I look up, trying to gather my thoughts. She has me on that point. Honesty really is a rare element, especially in my world.
“We have five minutes left. Anything else on your mind?”
So many things. None of them something that could be discussed in that amount of time.
“What would you suggest?” I ask her.
Her lips quirk up. It’s her tell for when she’s about to say something I won’t like.
“How about you try what I mentioned last month? Sharing some of your struggles with someone besides me. Voicing your opinion and feelings.”
“I tried it the last time you brought it up,” I remind her.
“Right. With the finance guy. Tate?”
“No, the one before him,” I correct. “He was in tech.”
“Ah, right,” she says, her tone holding none of the judgment I usually detect regarding my dating habits.
It’s why she’s still my therapist.
“From what I remember you made a painful memory into a joke and then ended up breaking up with him the day after because he brought it up at a party.”
“Yes, exactly.”
I let out a huff, remembering how annoyed I was. It was already plastered across the internet by the time I got home.
“I’ve tried,” I remind her. “It’s a risk sharing anything.”
“I know it is, Ani, but you’re going to need to find someone else in your life you can open up to. Bottled emotions are—”
“I know, I know.”
I’d rather not have her late for her next session explaining that to me for the fifteenth time.
It’s easy for her to say. She isn’t under a microscope with people waiting to post about her “PMS episodes” if she squints the wrong way into the sun.
“The Bitch isn’t the role that leads to happiness, Ani. You can’t wear a mask and have a real relationship. Just try again,” she urges.
I let out a long sigh. “I will.”
“Good,” she chirps. “Talk to you next week.”
I give her a little wave. I’ve long since trained myself to never smile unless I must.
Laugh lines only look good on men, not to mention those muscles don’t really work all that well anymore.
It’s suddenly too quiet. Without her soothing voice echoing through it, my condo feels cold and empty again. I don’t have any casting calls today and I doubt I’ll see Shane before midnight.
I hear a ping on my phone and try to resist looking.
According to my therapist, I’m supposed to be spending this time letting my mind wander so I can make connections and plans for my future. The latter feels just as bleak as always and so it takes very little convincing to pick up my phone.
I try to avoid looking at the comments under the post I made earlier today. I fail, as usual.
